Ellis stepped out of his parked car and onto the pebbled dirt. The hour-long drive had allowed for ample doubts and second-guessing. He’d had to remind himself of the message in his article, the hope and determination it could spark for folks in need.
Of course, it would be a lie to say he’d trekked to Laurel Township solely for the good of others. Raised in a home shadowed by a ghost, he learned early on that to be seen is to matter. But wasn’t that what everyone wanted deep down? To know their lives actually made a difference? To leave their mark. To be remembered.
Now, though, with the sale sign nowhere to be seen, Ellis’s concerns returned entirely to those boys. Only a few weeks had passed since his afternoon spent here. It had been safe to presume the brothers remained. Their farm road wasn’t the type to draw traffic.
Ellis assured himself of this as he climbed the porch steps. A pair of one-dollar bills rustled in his trouser pocket. At his apartment, before fetching his car, he’d grabbed the cash out of his rent fund. He planned to offer the donation before taking the new photos. A simple trade for a few pics, he’d explain if the father was the prideful type. It could buy milk for the kids, some butter and bread. Even meat and potatoes for stew.
Holding on to that hope, Ellis swung open the screen door and knocked. Waited.
He knocked again, louder.
Still no answer.
That was when he spotted the wooden slat. It lay on a far corner of the porch, piled atop old firewood. He released the screen door, which rattled when it shut, and picked up the board. He flipped it over, cautious of the rough edges.
Around him, there were no marbles, no other toys or small shoes. No clues to say that the boys hadn’t been pawned off to the highest bidder. Or, more likely, anyone who’d offered.
“They’re gone.”
Ellis turned, startled at first by the voice, then the message. At the base of the porch stood a girl, seven years old maybe, holding dandelions at her side. The overalls she wore, shirtless, covered the chest of her petite frame, but were well short of her bare feet and ankles.
He steeled himself. “You’re talking about the two boys who live here?”
The girl nodded, bobbing her blond ponytail. “Rest of the family too. Ma says their pa got lucky, getting a mill job over in Bedford County, and right in the nick of time. Mr. Klausen’s been threatenin’ to… You know Mr. Klausen?”
Ellis shook his head.
The girl huffed to herself. “You ain’t missed nothing there, that’s for sure. Mr. Klausen owns a bunch of the houses ’round here and looks like a potato. You know, the bumpy kind with sprouts every which way. And when the rent’s late, he turns mean real fast.” Her emphatic expression said she’d seen the effect firsthand. From what Ellis gathered, so had the family of the boys who were no longer here.
“That’s good news, then. About the job.” He was relieved for the family. He truly was.
Granted, now knowing they were okay, he just wished he’d snapped a couple more shots when he had the chance.
“You want any?” she asked.
Ellis missed the reference.
“Only a penny a bundle. I made ’em myself. See?” She held out dandelions that looked to be twined in several groups of a dozen. Some drooped from the heat more than others. “A little water, and they perk right back up. I give you my word on that.” She gave a solid nod to underscore her integrity on the matter.
Ellis honestly needed to hoard every cent he could, now more than ever. But he surveyed her thin cheeks and pink, rounded nose. Her eyes brimmed with such hope. As much as he tried, he couldn’t refuse.
He shed a sigh. “Let me see what I got,” he said and descended the stairs.
She grinned in anticipation as he fished through his trouser pocket and found three pennies. His first instinct was to surrender only one. But lessons ingrained from years of attending Sunday services with his mother—and his father too, though only in the physical sense—compelled him to be charitable. Just minutes ago, he was ready to give two full dollars to a family he didn’t even know.
“Guess I’ll take whatever this’ll get me.” When he placed the coins in the girl’s hand, she gaped as if receiving a collection of rare jewels. Then she abruptly masked her exuberance with a steady, businesslike manner.
“That gets ya three bouquets.” She handed him all but one of her slumped bundles.
Perfect, actually—for the funeral of his career.
“Thanks, mister.” She kept her smile to a minimum, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her. Not waiting for him to change his mind, she wisely dashed off with pennies secure in her fist. In a blink, she crossed the road and started up the long dirt drive that led to another house.
A drop of sweat trailed down Ellis’s cheek. The afternoon sun bore down on his back, his shoulders. Weight accumulated as much from the air as the pressure of the waning day.
Don’t give up yet. Lily’s words echoed back to him.
A downward glance, and he realized he was still holding the sign. He could always take a picture of the chalked words, include the house in the background. It wouldn’t be nearly as powerful as the original image, but better than nothing.
He opened the car door, set the sign and flowers on the front seat, and retrieved the loaded camera from his satchel. Rising too fast, he banged his head on the ceiling. The vehicle creaked from the impact, and Ellis gritted his teeth through his cursing.
He was rubbing the sore spot under his felt hat when he glimpsed the girl, stopped at a large apple tree beside the house across the way. She was waving a smaller boy down from a branch, presumably with news of her big sale.
Despite the throbbing in Ellis’s head, the makings of an idea came to him. They slid together like beads of sweat, like raindrops pooling on glass, forming an altered shape.
He had the sign and the setting. All he needed was a pair of boys. Maybe a brother was playing inside. Or a cousin, a friend.
If not, heck, the girl would do. With her boyish clothes and hair pulled back, who would notice? Only a few had actually seen the first photo, and likely none of them with a close eye. It wasn’t a tactic Ellis preferred, but a reporter’s success often depended on his ability to be resourceful.
Besides, if three pennies so easily raised the girl’s spirits, maybe her parents would feel the same about two dollar bills. It would be no different from, say, paying models for a fancy advertisement in Ladies’ Home Journal.
He checked his pocket watch. Half past twelve. No time to debate.
Leaving his car, he grabbed the sign and headed across the road.
Chapter 6
Lily surveyed the newsroom from her desk, ensuring discretion before lifting the receiver of her upright phone.
Ever since she declined Ellis’s invite that morning, the notion of reconsidering had nagged at her. And why wouldn’t it, given the meal scheduled at her boardinghouse? Every Tuesday without fail, supper featured steak and kidney pudding with extra onions, a favorite dish of no resident but her British landlady.
In all honesty, the appeal of an outing was less about the food than the company, as the rest of Lily’s night would entail reading a book in the sparseness of her bedroom. Still, anything resembling a date wasn’t an option with anyone but Samuel. The recollection of this made her miss him even more, spurring her to sneak in a quick call.
The female operator came on the line.
“Yes, hello,” Lily replied. “I’d like to place a long-distance call, please.”
“Could you speak up, ma’am?”
The commotion of the room buzzed about her, a steady rise toward the daily deadline. Holding the neck of the phone, she brought the mouthpiece closer. “I said, I’d like to make a call.”
“The number?”
Before the details could tumble out, a man appeared in Lily’s periphery. She swiveled
in her chair to find Clayton Brauer with a page in hand.
Lily’s grip on the phone tightened, her chance to connect with Samuel vanishing.
“Ma’am?” the operator pressed.
A cigarette plumed at the corner of Clayton’s mouth. He flicked her a nod in greeting. His eyes, light brown like his close-cropped hair, held the same self-assuredness woven into everything about him—from his broad stature and smooth voice to his snappy suits and polished wingtips.
“I’ll ring back shortly, Operator. Thank you.” Lily replaced the earpiece on the cradle as Clayton removed his cigarette and exhaled.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt, Miss Palmer.”
“Oh, no. It wasn’t you.” She pretended to search through paperwork on her desk. “I swore I had the number right here, but now I’m just not seeing it.”
In the uneasy pause that followed, she imagined his reporter’s gaze, inquisitive and doubtful, studying her every move. Yet when she looked up, his focus was aimed at the chief’s closed door. Its glass pane provided a clear view of the meeting inside. Why was he being so snoopy?
“Mr. Brauer?” Her tone came out sharper than intended, a lingering effect of the interruption.
Not that it rattled him a whit. His gaze still on the door, he tilted his head. “Looks like old Schiller’s packing up his ink,” he mused.
“Retirement?” Thrown off, Lily turned toward the office. She strained her neck to see the exchange for herself. But the back of Mr. Schiller’s shiny scalp, visible through his thin white hair, blocked the chief’s face, revealing nothing. “Why do you think that?”
“Have you read his column lately?” Clayton faced her with an amused look. “All about travel, seeing the world. Safaris and deep-sea fishing. Schiller’s definitely got the itch. I’d put money on it.”
The range of topics alone wasn’t unusual, as Mr. Schiller essentially ruled his own column, having worked at the Examiner since the paper began. In fact, with such seniority, he was rarely subjected to discussions with the chief, and certainly not in person.
Like now.
“Anyhow…here.” Clayton set a paper on Lily’s desk. “The sources the chief asked for.” If he said anything more before walking away, Lily missed it. She was too consumed by the revelation, the possibilities congealing in her mind.
She slid open her bottom drawer. From beneath her supplies of pencils, stamps, and staples, she retrieved her forest-green folder. Its corners were bent, its edges tattered from years of storing the essays and columns she had crafted in school. She hadn’t saved them all, only her level best.
When first arriving in the city, she had brought such foolish aspirations, all neatly tucked between those pages. A slew of interviews soon revealed her low odds, like the majority of other women, of becoming the next Nellie Bly. The daring adventures of the late columnist—from her record-breaking race around the world to her deliberate arrest for a report on jail conditions—were begrudgingly admired by even the staunchest of newsmen, but as a rare exception. By the time Lily had wandered into the Examiner, she wasn’t ignorant enough to turn down a secretarial position. The reality of a regular wage had outweighed her pride.
If Clayton was right, however, a fresh opportunity loomed. And what better timing? She had just helped propel Ellis Reed’s career. Perhaps, at last, she could make real headway with her own future plans. And in doing so, she could fulfill a long-held promise to more than just herself.
Chapter 7
The girl beamed with delight when Ellis approached her farmhouse. It was similar to the other, with a porch and screen door, but with white paint under its dingy sheen. “You wanna buy more, mister?”
“Actually, I was hoping your father might be home.” If around, the man of the house would want some say in any financial arrangement.
“He’s gone,” she said. The towheaded boy, barefoot and dressed in matching overalls, stood at her side.
“Off at work?”
“Nah. In heaven.”
Her matter-of-fact tone told him it wasn’t a recent occurrence, but still Ellis offered, “I’m real sorry to hear that.”
The boy tugged on the girl’s arm, as if skeptical about confiding in a stranger.
“Ah, don’t fuss. This here’s the fella who gave me the pennies.” She exaggerated an eye roll, a message to say the kid was just too young to understand.
Ellis smiled. “I assume this is your little brother?”
“Little is right. Calvin here’s only five.”
“I ain’t little.” His round face drew into a pout, a plum becoming a prune.
“And I’m Ruby. Ruby Dillard. I’m eight and a half. Nearly nine.”
Ellis’s guess on her age had been fairly close, though a decade short if measuring on a precocious scale.
“Well, Ruby, you wouldn’t have another brother around, would you?”
“Another?” She put her fists on her hips. “Heck no. I might not even keep this one.” She fought a smile as Calvin’s eyes, framed by thick lashes, sparked with defiance.
“Mamaaa!” He scampered into the house, their mother evidently inside. This provided a timely answer to Ellis’s next question.
“Hey, mister, listen here.” Ruby leaned forward and spoke in a stage whisper. “There’s a lady at church—sounds like a dying cat when she sings—she calls Mama ‘Geri,’ like short for Geraldine, but Mama hates that.”
“So…don’t call her Geri.”
Ruby nodded, an eyebrow raised, saying, Trust me on this.
Just then, her mother stepped out of the house. She was wiping her hands on the faded striped apron over her cotton housedress, Calvin peeking from behind. The sun highlighted her sandy-blond hair, loosely gathered in a bun.
“Can I help you?” Her tone was as even as her gaze.
“Mrs. Dillard, good afternoon. I’m with the Philadelphia Examiner. I apologize for troubling you in the middle of the day.”
“We’re not subscribing to nothing.”
“No…no, that’s not what I’m after.”
“What, then?”
All right, skip to the deal. “The thing is, there’s this article I’ve written for the paper. And I just need some photos of a few kids. It won’t take more than—”
“Not interested. Ruby, come do your chores.”
“But, Mama. Did you hear? I wanna be in the paper!”
“Young lady, I do not have the energy to repeat myself today.” The woman indeed appeared tired as she coughed and batted away dust in the air, though she still looked capable of doing the same to her daughter’s behind.
Ruby slumped her shoulders. As she trudged up the porch stairs, Ellis stepped closer. “Please, Mrs. Dillard. Before you make a final decision…” A few more seconds and these kids, like the previous two, would be gone. He scrambled to pull the curled bills from his pocket. “Rest assured, I can pay.”
Ruby wheeled around. At the cash, her dainty jaw fell open and Calvin cocked his head, his eyes growing impossibly large. Geraldine wasn’t taken in so easily, but neither was she turning away.
Noting his narrow opening, Ellis rushed to describe the photographs he required and the basics of the article. There would be no specific ties to her children. No names or other details beyond their township. The picture would simply represent the turmoil facing countless American families.
When Ellis finished, Geraldine crossed her arms. She studied him, evaluating, deciding. Her large, rounded eyes matched those of her children, but with a hooded quality underscored by dark circles, her ashen pallor suggesting a life drained of color. “I got laundry to hang out back. You can take your pictures till I’m done. Then the children got chores to do.” Leaving it at that, she disappeared into the house.
Ellis wasn’t sure how much time this gave him, but he guessed it wasn’t much. Within minutes, he arra
nged the kids on the porch steps, side by side, and the sign in the foreground. The camera was ready for clicking.
Through the lens, he repeatedly captured their dirt-smudged faces, charming with their cupid lips and their ears that came to gentle points. Thanks to Ruby’s coaxing, warmth increased in both their smiles, followed by their eyes.
Ellis was in the midst of snapping another picture—Ruby had just slung her arm around Calvin’s shoulders—when Geraldine reemerged from the front door. Palm raised, she averted her face from the camera. “That’s enough now. You got what you needed.”
The session was over.
With safely a dozen good images on film, Ellis thanked the kids before Geraldine herded them inside. He met her at the steps and handed over the money, catching the subtle desperation in her face.
“I appreciate this, Mrs. Dillard. You’ve truly been a lifesaver.”
She tendered a nod, but retreated without a word.
In the front window, lined with blue gingham curtains, Ruby suddenly appeared. As if taking the stage for a final bow, she waved, then slipped from view.
• • •
In no time, Ellis was back on the road.
Rumbling his way toward Philly, he pondered the new photos. The more miles he covered, the more his uncertainty stirred over the nature of the substitution. Though when he reached Center City, a dose of reality cut through his doubts. In front of Independence Hall, a group of browbeaten men milled about in suits and hats. Over their chests hung hand-painted boards.
Wanted: a decent job. Know 3 trades.
Will take any work. Do not want charity.
Family man. War vet. College trained. Need a job.
Collectively, they sent a stark message to Ellis: lose sight of his goals, and he’d soon need a sign of his own. If ever questioned, he’d undoubtedly admit the truth. He had no intention of swindling anyone…and definitely not outright lying…
At the corner, he opened up the throttle of his Model T and swung onto Market. For once, he was grateful for the rattling of his godforsaken engine. Anything to drown out the whispers of his conscience.
Sold on a Monday Page 4
